


The Sleeping Dragon

by dustyfluorescent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: kinkme_merlin, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:24:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyfluorescent/pseuds/dustyfluorescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their love is like tickling a sleeping Dragon. Foolish, but very tempting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleeping Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this kinkme_merlin prompt. ](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/25900.html?thread=26502444#t26502444)

Thirteen years after Merlin arrived in Camelot, ten years after Arthur was crowned King, it's done. The Dragon smiles, watching over their shared destiny that they have finally fulfilled, and Merlin bows before his liege lord, the High King of Albion. His heart swells with pride and affection. This is his destiny. This is where he was made to be. He was born to bow before this man, to give his life to serve him.

He knows this, yet there is no peace, only a cold, gnawing emptiness settled somewhere deep inside him. After all this time, Arthur still doesn't know about his magic. Arthur still doesn't know what he's sacrificed, has no idea of his true power. And now that it's over and Arthur doesn't need Merlin anymore, it is slowly turning his pride into bitterness, his affection into poisonous longing. He grows restless. He grows sad.

All is well in the peaceful land of Albion as Merlin takes the cover of the night and slips through the gates of Camelot, wearing a grey hooded cloak and carrying with him nothing but the clothes he's wearing, and the need to walk as far from here as his legs will carry him. His owl leads the way, his familiar presence a comfort in this world that, for Merlin, is about to change for good.

"Goodbye," he whispers, as he turns to look at the citadels of Camelot for the last time, painted grey and magnificent against the darkening sky. This was his home for a long time. Merlin huffs a dry laugh and turns away. Sentiment. He doesn't have a home anymore.

Merlin can see Archimedes, a white blurry spot moving towards the edge of the woods. His friend has already begun his hunt.

Merlin follows.

***

Merlin travels for a long time. He meets many people, hears many stories, sleeps in many beds, spends many nights under the stars. He talks about his own adventures, of all the distant places he's been to, all the wonders he's witnessed. He tells stories of the Dragons, of the powerful sorcerers he has encountered, of the unbelievable creatures he has defeated. 

He doesn't say it was him. Not ever.

Nothing changes for a long time, and it's good, because it's so different from what his life used to be. He quite likes living by himself, just for himself, answering to nobody else for a change. Leading a quiet, uneventful life fits him just fine, but more than anything, it leaves him satisfied, at peace. He's free to practice his magic, free of anybody's rule, of anybody's expectations. It's just him and Archimedes, travelling together, one day at a time. As far as Merlin is concerned, nothing needs to change. He thinks he's worked to deserve his chance to rest, thank you very much.

But that's not how his life works, and really, he should have realised that already. And so it happens that nothing changes until everything does.

It's a night like any other, and he's staying the night in a small village called Hogsmeade, when they meet for the first time. He's sitting in a dodgy tavern with a cup of ale in front of him, telling the story of the Dragon Aithusa's betrayal, when he notices a man clad in black sitting alone in a small corner table watching him intently, listening to every word he says, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Merlin stumbles in his words as his magic stirs in him, happy and eager. This man is a sorcerer, and a powerful one, at that. More powerful than any other sorcerer that Merlin has ever encountered before, himself excluded, of course. It gets a little hard to breathe, harder to remember how the story should go on.

As soon as the he has finished his tale (quite badly, to be perfectly frank), Merlin gets up. He can't even really remember what he was talking about, as his magic wantonly, almost desperately, reaches for the stranger. The man smiles, almost as though he can feel it, and he probably can. It is not news to Merlin that his body can't possibly contain all the magic that he has. It is very easy to notice most of the time; his magic behaves like an over-eager pup, jumping on anyone it thinks might love it, unable to stay still or quiet for a second. 

This time, Merlin thinks, his magic might not be disappointed. He can feel this man's power shimmering under his skin. His magic is almost as eager to run wild as Merlin's is, and he can feel that it is benevolent. Merlin looks the man in the eye, smiles and nods.

"Good evening," he says. The man smiles.

"To you as well, my friend."

Merlin sits down. He knows he's been invited. That is an understatement, really; he feels as though he can't leave, doesn't remember why he should. He's not worried, though. He knows what it's like to be enchanted, and this isn't it. This, right now, is him giving up, letting go. He's letting his magic get what he wants, because it is the only thing he's ever loved more than Arthur. They have suffered enough.

"You were watching me."

"I was." The man sips his ale, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Your stories are fascinating. Not like anything I've ever heard before."

"Thank you." He lets his magic wrap around the stranger, tentative but adoring. _I want you_ , it says, and he's sure the man can feel it. The smile on his lips changes. It's warmer now, more like a question. 

"I have a room." 

That's all that needs to be said. They get up and leave. 

***

The man says his name is Salazar as he distractedly frees Merlin of his breeches. They don't talk after that. Instead, they devour each other, fiercely clinging to this moment, like nothing else ever created even deserves to exist. Merlin's head goes blank and his vision goes white, and he knows that out there, stars must be going out, a storm is building, and the Spirits of the Other Side are surely crying in agony under the dark night sky. Merlin hasn't let go like this in a long time, if ever. 

Afterwards, it takes him a long while to guide his spirit back to his body again. Fortunately, they are not in a hurry.

"You never told me your name," Salazar says after Merlin has started breathing normally again. "Are you even going to?"

Merlin smiles to himself. He knows perfectly well that it's not really his name Salazar wants to know, but his power - where he's from, what he is, what he's capable of. There is no way that a sorcerer of Merlin's power could remain unknown, so his name is an easy way to know more about him without really asking. 

"It's Merlin," he says, and Salazar frowns.

"I haven't heard of you before," he says slowly, as though he can scarcely believe it. Merlin turns to look at his companion, and as he sees the bewilderment in his eyes, he can't help but laugh.

"You are awfully transparent, my friend," he says softly, a hint of a smile colouring his words. "Don't worry, your senses haven't betrayed you. I am powerful, and I am sure you have heard of me. Merlin is the name my mother gave me, but the Druids call me Emrys."

He doesn't know why he says what he says. He has never been one to talk about his power, his destiny, his true name. Those are things he's learnt to keep secret, and truth be told, he feels a little awkward about possessing so much might over the world, let alone talking about it. But there is something special about this man, about the way he feels like the most beautiful thing to have ever existed under his gaze, that drags all his secrets out of him, makes hiding seem unnecessary and completely useless. 

Merlin watches Salazar's eyes widen as he realises who he's talking to - whom he has just bedded. Merlin can see him mouth the word - _Emrys_ \- like a prayer, and he has to close his eyes and turn away. This man looks at him like he's the most precious thing to ever have been created, with such unabashed adoration written all over his face, that it makes Merlin a bit queasy. He's not worthy of that look.

(For a second, he misses Arthur so much that he can't really breathe, and it's the longest second in his life. He thinks about never meeting Arthur again and it _hurts_ , burns in his lungs and rips at his throat. Nobody should look at him like that. He's just a man. And not the best one he's ever known.) 

He drags his thoughts back to here and now, this small and dusty old room in a dodgy tavern in a tiny village far from anywhere he knows. Salazar's hand on is shoulder, his warm breath against his neck; his magic humming, sated, inside him. He briefly wonders where Archimedes is, whether his friend has found anything to eat yet. The night is still young. 

"Don't go," Salazar whispers, and Merlin opens his eyes. Without noticing, he has made a move towards his discarded clothes. He takes a deep breath and realises how suffocated he feels in the tiny room. He's suddenly very tired. Wearily, he turns to look at the window, and it opens. The chill of the night air on his naked skin is a welcome distraction. 

"Shouldn't you be in Camelot, by the King's side?" Salazar asks, his voice quiet and hesitant. 

"Not anymore," Merlin answers, and it hurts more than it should. "I have done my part. He doesn't need me now."

"But why would he let you go? You're the most powerful man to ever have lived! He'd never have united Albion without you by his side." 

Those words are treason, but Merlin doesn't even notice. Salazar knows more than any rumours have to tell. He knows the prophecies. Of course he would. Merlin smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. 

"No, he wouldn't have," he admits. "But he doesn't need to know that."

Salazar stares at him for a moment - Merlin looks away - and then wraps his arms around him with a sigh, pulling him closer. He kisses his hair and hugs him tighter.

"If he can't see you, Emrys, he was never worthy of you to begin with," Salazar whispers in his ear, his voice rough with raw emotion, and it's not true, not true and Merlin knows this, but as he turns around to face Salazar and they lose themselves in yet another frantic, heated kiss, he lets himself believe the lie; just for a little while he lets himself think he made the right choice by leaving. Salazar is right, and Salazar loves him for who he truly is. _Emrys_. That is something he's suddenly frighteningly certain of. 

The morning sun finds them in each other's embrace. Merlin wakes up when Archimedes flies in through the open window, and drops a dead mouse on his pillow with an annoyed screech. 

"You're not a bloody cat," Merlin mumbles sleepily. He yawns and turns to look at Salazar, who grunts, blinking in the pale morning light.

"Sorry," Merlin mutters, embarrassed. "My owl decided to bring us a gift." He flicks his fingers and the dead mouse disappears. "Disgusting."

But Salazar just laughs, running his feather-light fingers on Merlin's skin.

"I think we should travel together," he says a while later, between kisses.

"You want me to teach you what I know," Merlin answers, laughing breathlessly. 

"Is that so very wrong?"

And no, maybe it isn't. All Merlin knows is that he feels loved, he feels respected, he feels adored like never before. It's a new feeling, and he likes it a lot.

They set off together.

***

 

During their travels, they talk a lot. They have long, deep conversations about many things. Salazar talks animatedly of his hopes and dreams, of all the wonders that he's seen, of all the stories he's heard. When Merlin speaks, he listens, eyes gleaming, holding his breath. Salazar is young, but he is ambitious and immensely talented. He wants to learn, he wants to be noticed, respected. Merlin adores him.

It takes Salazar four days and nights to finally ask the question that's clearly been on his mind ever since they first met. 

"That night we met," he says, hesitant, "you were telling a story of the Dragon Aithusa. They say you are a Dragonlord. Is it true?"

"Yes," he answers after a while, because there is no point in keeping it a secret, or trying to lie about it. He's fed up with secrets, anyway. He's had more than his fair share of those. And, he remembers, Salazar won't mind, and the thought makes him feel warm inside. Salazar loves it that he's special, unlike anyone else he's ever met. "I am a Dragonlord, the last one to still walk on this Earth."

"You don't have an heir."

"No."

For once, they walk in silence. There is nothing to discuss. It is a beautiful day, and they have each other. 

***

"I have a few friends," Salazar mutters one day after they have walked in silence for a very long time, and suddenly it's like he doesn't know how to continue. That's rare. 

Merlin says nothing. He reaches to touch Salazar with his magic, letting him know that he's listening. That seems to be encouragement enough.

"We're thinking of founding a school for magic users. Now that magic is no longer outlawed anywhere in Albion, we believe magic users should be taught how to use their birthright efficiently and responsibly. We believe that no young sorcerer should be left alone with their gift."

Merlin smiles. 

"That sounds like a good idea," he says, and means it.

Salazar shrugs and looks at Merlin. 

"I think so," he says quietly. "But it's not as easy as it should be. We can't seem to agree on who should be taken as students."

"That seems straightforward enough to me," Merlin says, frowning. "Anyone with magical abilities should be trained. It is the safest thing to do, and the only responsible choice." _I should know_ , he doesn't say. He has no particular interest in remembering how reckless and ignorant he has been.

"See, that's the difference. I don't think it's all that simple," Salazar says. "I don't think teaching magical traditions to children born to non-magical parents and raised in non-magical environments serves any kind of purpose. Most of these children don't have enough magical ability in them to ever do any sort of magic, unless they're taught."

"But some do," Merlin grits out before he has enough time to remind himself to stay calm and shut up. 

"Training people with scarcely enough power to perform cheap parlour tricks to amuse little lords is a waste of time," Salazar continues, ignoring Merlin. "The purpose of training is not to weaken our kind and turn us into a laughingstock, but to make us stronger."

"I thought your noble plan was to increase skill and awareness, not power," Merlin snaps, and when Salazar glares at him, he doesn't look away. 

"Surely you of all people understand what it means to possess great power, what it _feels like_. This matters, Merlin. You have to realise that."

"I don't see what my power has to do with this. I doubt you and your friends have anything to teach me."

He hadn't known he could sound so cold. Salazar swallows and lowers his gaze, but Merlin knows perfectly well that it's not a sign of anything but fear. Salazar dares not to voice his disagreement any further, but his views have not been altered, there is no doubt. 

After a while of strained silence, Salazar clumsily changes the subject. His words stay with Merlin, though. 

Salazar is young, not much older than Merlin was when he first arrived in Camelot, and he is proud and foolish. He has an idea he doesn't want to let go of, and it's not that he should, but he hasn't quite thought it through yet, and he can't seem to understand there is a problem. Merlin does see his point. He loves magic, it's what he is made of, what he lives and breathes every second of his life. And it truly is, as anyone who knows anything about it knows perfectly well, the most magnificent thing in the world. Merlin despises the mere idea that it be made into something cheap and superficial. Magic is a dangerous tool, and to wield it requires great skill. It is most definitely not something to entertain bored noblemen with. 

Nevertheless, he knows what it is that he fears, and what might come of this. It is not only the thought of children like him being ignored and left alone to deal with their powers that makes him uneasy, but a much graver threat, much greater a horror that he can see forming in the horizon. He is no seer, never has been, but he doesn't need to be. Not for this. 

It is only lucky that he has managed to avoid the pyre all his life. Salazar is too young to truly understand what it was like, but Merlin remembers. He doesn't want anything like it to ever happen again. Not to anyone. 

They don't talk about it again. Merlin pushes his fears aside and concentrates on being happy instead. He had almost forgotten how good it feels to make your own choices, to love someone because it is your heart's desire, not because it is destiny. He always loved Arthur, and he loves him still, but he cannot bring himself to say it was what he wanted, what he would have chosen to do, had any of it ever truly been in his hands. Salazar, on the other hand, is nothing if not a choice. His love for Merlin is like a bonfire, high and bright and dangerous, and Merlin chooses to welcome it with open arms, knowing full well that he could get burnt in the process, because it feels right.

***

Merlin has always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. He was made to rule the Dragons but to bow before the humankind. 

Salazar often reminds Merlin of a certain Dragon he knows. The two share several bad qualities. The only difference is that Salazar doesn't even pretend to listen to him, to do as he says. His fire burns bright in them both, and it's strong, wild, and beautiful. 

It just so happens that somehow, without him even really noticing before it is much too late, it isn't a choice anymore, and Merlin finds himself fiercely and unconditionally in love with Salazar. And when men like them fall in love, hungry for power, adventure, and each other; bright and strong, a promise of greatness their birthright, but disappointed in how their lives have turned out, betrayed and hurt ten times over... It is a poisonous mix, made to explode, built to bring pain in its wake. Their love is like tickling a sleeping Dragon. Foolish, but very tempting.

And so it happens that Merlin is a prisoner of his own love once again, ready and willing to give everything for the sake of the one who holds his heart. He doesn't like it, but he cannot bring himself to care. 

So it goes. Salazar's love is like a bonfire, but no matter how bright a bonfire burns, it can only burn for so long. Merlin, on the other hand, has never been one to fall out of love. For him, every love he's ever had is forever, and Salazar is not any different. 

Their last night together is a long one. Salazar tells Merlin he needs to go, that he cannot stay, that he has grown restless and desperate. Merlin listens to his lies in silence but doesn't believe a word. He isn't stupid, he isn't blind, and he's perfectly aware that Salazar is going back to Godrick, because he can't stay away, no matter how much the two hate each other. That night, they fuck long and hard - it is not making love anymore - and Salazar gently strokes Merlin's hair as he struggles to breathe, because this is already hurting him more than he can bear. Salazar doesn't say he's sorry because he isn't, and he doesn't say he's coming back because he will not. He says nothing because it's better that way, and instead, he just holds Merlin until he falls asleep, choked to exhaustion by the tears he is too tired to shed, a familiar whiper in his ear, like a prayer - _Emrys._

When morning comes, he is once again as alone as he ever was.

***

He travels far and wide, but doesn't find whatever it is that he's looking for. He takes his time, and lets himself grieve what he has lost for the first time in a very long time. He finds a beautiful, isolated place by a dark lake, and in its depths, something big and gentle that has already lived there for hundreds of years, greets him, lets him know he is welcome to stay. It is there that he lets his sorrow run loose, cries his misery to the grey, ruthless sky. The Dragon Kilgharrah comes to him, and for once, he keeps quiet, watching as Merlin builds a castle out of nothing but magic, visible only to those born with magical abilities. 

He is no seer, but he knows Salazar will find his way here. He will know that it was his Emrys that build this place, and that it is meant for him. _Never tickle a sleeping dragon_. Salazar will know. 

He and his three friends will build their dream together inside these walls. Years will go by, and Merlin will never be forgotten, and maybe every student Salazar chooses as his own will feel something more; that they belong, that they are always cared for, that they are destined for greatness, because they are _his_. Because Merlin knows, he is absolutely certain, that he is exactly the kind of man Salazar would want to teach the most, and that the students he will choose will always remind him of Merlin. It's not that he wishes it were so, he just knows that is how it will be. 

In the end, Merlin returns to Camelot, to stand by his King's side, as he should. When he meets Arthur again, there is no bitterness left in his heart, only love. They will be happy. He will be content. But Merlin will never forget the man who told him he was great, and loved him for it. He will remember until the end of his days, and in that, he truly is the Dragons' kin.


End file.
